


Modern Faerie Tale

by cryptidkickflip



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Demon AU, M/M, not sure where i'm headed with this one folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 12:25:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13434696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptidkickflip/pseuds/cryptidkickflip
Summary: Okay, so maybe it's not a faerie tale, really. There's no faeries in this one. Nasty little buggers, they are. Arguably worse than demons, which this onedoeshave in it.





	Modern Faerie Tale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DexjioTheDarkOne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DexjioTheDarkOne/gifts).



            As a narrator, I know that I should probably start this story out with like, “Once upon a time,” or “In a galaxy, far, far away,” but this story doesn’t take place once upon a time _or_ in a galaxy far, far away. It happened in Brooklyn, last summer. Now don’t get me wrong, that doesn’t make it any less of a faerie tale. There’s demons, and curses and star-crossed lovers (We’ll get to that bit. Steamy. Good stuff.) but, like, our dashing protagonist takes the Metro to work? What I’m sayin’ is, stick with me, alright?

* * *

 

            This whole thing started in an unassuming corner shop, owned by a man and his wife. They sold newspapers, coffee, sandwiches, the usual fare for a corner store. They were open late, and many people would come in and out to get food to soak up the cheap beer they’d drank at the bar down the block. One particular night, the husband was working the til. His wife was upstairs with her feet up, as she was eight months pregnant with their bouncing baby boy.

The door chimed and he looked up from his phone. A woman in a red dress and white pumps perused the chip and candy selection lazily. She didn’t look like their usual customers, but who was he to judge? At least she wasn’t ripping open packages in the aisle and going to town before she paid. He looked back down at his phone. The replays from the Giants game kept him rapt for a few minutes until he felt a presence on the other side of the counter.

            “Hiya. Is that all for you, Miss?” The woman set down a bottle of water. He picked it up and began ringing it out.

            “And a pack of Marlboro reds, please.” She said, voice sultry. She watched him through her eyelashes and he reached for the cigarettes. He rang them up as well.

            “Can I see some I.D.?” He asked, hooking one side of his lips in a grin. She fished the piece of plastic out of her wallet with a coy smile.

            “It’s been millennia since I’ve been asked that.” He leaned on the counter and took it between two fingers.

            “Well, I can’t see why that would be the case,” He looked down at it. “Miss Rowena. What brings you to these parts? You don’t look like you’re from around here.”

            “That’s because I’m not,” She said bluntly. She took the pack of cigarettes and handed him a twenty. He made change, and she opened the pack.

            “Sorry, sweetheart, but you can’t smoke in here,” She reached for a lighter anyway and took a long drag.

            “Oh?” She said simply.

            “We can step outside, if you’d like,” He offered, handing her her change. She put it away carefully and tilted her head to the door. He followed her, and she finished her cigarette in relative silence. He’d tried to ask her a few questions, but she’d only smiled at him.

            “Do you know why I’m here, Michael?” He squinted. He didn’t recall giving her his name.

            “For the smokes?” He replied, frowning.

            “Oh, of course. That, but there’s something else.” She tapped a painted nail on her chin in a caricature of deep thought. “Oh, that’s right. What’s her name, Sarah?” Michael’s heart slammed into overdrive. How did this lady know about Sarah? “I know all about Sarah, Michael. Call me Rowena, call me Hera. I have many names, but none of them matter. What truly matters, Michael,” She got close, and the smoke from her mouth curled around his face. “Is that today is your day of reckoning.”

            “Reckoning?” Michael stammered. “I don’t understand.”

            “Men like you rarely do.” Rowena, Hera, whatever snapped. “I know all about men like you. You take and take, but nothing will ever be enough. I’m here to punish you, Michael.” She sniffed.

            “Wait, wait, there’s gotta be something I can do,” He said, taking a step back. She shook her head.

            “It’s too late. The damage has been done.” She smiled. Earlier, Michael would have called it coy, but now it looked downright predatory. “I know that you’d only make yourself into a victim if I’d have cursed _you,_ but your boy is a different tale entirely.” Michael’s eyes flew wide.

            “What did you do to my son?” He demanded.

            “Oh, _now_ he considers his family,” She sneered. She dropped the cigarette and ground it out with the heel of her shoe. “Every day that boy lives, every breath he takes will be a reminder to you that you are scum. You did this to him, Michael.” She hissed.

            “Did what? What did you do?”

            “You’ll see. Go upstairs. Your wife needs you.”

* * *

 

            Shiro’s head whipped back and the knife that slashed across his face drew rivulets of blood that cascaded over his jaw and down his throat. The fingers tipped with claws that tangled in his hair gave another tug and that dragged a growl from his throat.

            “Still have some fight in you, I see,” The Queen sneered. “It’s too late. Your little stunt is over.” She threw him to the ground.

            “There will always be more of us, Lilith,” He snarled, but she used her ample powers to lift him against the wall by his throat.

            “Then I will kill more of you.” She whispered into his ear. “You, though. You’ll make such a pretty example.” Fear gripped low in Shiro’s stomach. He didn’t fear death. He’d welcome it like an old friend, should he die on the battlefield. Lilith, however, had ways of making one wish they had died instead. An icy feeling gripped him in his core and it spread slowly, agonizingly slowly, through his veins and to his limbs.

            “What’s happening,” He gasped, fighting to move. Lilith’s face broke into a grin.

            “You were one of the most fearsome generals, Takashi.” She said playfully. “Your face would send mortal men into hysterics. It was almost cute.” Shiro was dropped roughly to the floor and he stared in horror at his hands. His claws were retracting, and he felt his whole body becoming smaller. Weaker. He reached up to run a hand through his hair to find that his large, curling horns were gone. His mouth felt strange without fangs and Lilith now towered over him. “Try to recruit an army like this, pretty boy.”

            “No,” He muttered. “No!”

            “Get out of my sight.” She snapped her fingers, and between heartbeats, Shiro found himself standing in the middle of a bustling street. Neon signs glared at him, brighter than the fires of Hell, and the sounds of cars and music didn’t drown out his screams as he fell to his knees.

* * *

 

            “Michael Kogane?” A nurse called into the waiting room. She looked pale, and the clipboard in her hand shook. “You need to come quickly.” He jumped up from his seat and followed her. “There’s been… Some complications.”

            “What complications? What happened?”

            “There was something… Unexpected.” The nurse didn’t say anything else. They went into the operating room. A doctor stood next to the table his wife lay on. She was impossibly still. The doctor faced away from them but turned as Michael came nearer. In his arms, lie a child. Michael shuddered to think that it was his. The thing was small and its skin was a light shade of purple. It had thick, purple fur on its face and head, and its fingers ended in sharp claws. It opened its eyes to burble at Michael, and they were a sickly yellow.

            “It’s unlike any birth defect we’ve ever seen before.” The doctor said quietly.

            “Is that… My son?” Michael asked. “What about my wife?”

            “There was nothing we could do. She lost too much blood, and insisted that we save him first.” The doctor replied. “She said you had agreed on the name Keith.”

* * *

 

            Keith was eighteen years old the first time he’d completely snuck out of his house. He knew he was different. It didn’t take a genius. I mean, he’d seen people on the TV and on the internet, and none of them really looked like him. Hell, his dad didn’t even look like him, but he didn’t really think about it, you know?

            “Dad, will you play Call of Duty with me?” Keith asked. His father let out a burp and set down the can he’d been connected to like a lifeline.

            “Not now, Keith.” He’d said quietly. “Daddy’s busy.”

            “But Dad, I’m bored.” He huffed. “Are there any more shows I can watch?”

            “No.” His father had snapped and Keith shrunk back. His dad took a deep breath, pinching his nose and reclaiming his composure. “No, Keith. I’ll go to the video store later.”

            “What if I come with you?” Keith said, coming closer to his dad.

            “Absolutely not.” Came the immediate response. “You know you can’t go outside.”

            “But dad, come on,” He’d whined. “I want to pick out my own movies. Can we get Netflix? I want to watch something new,”

            “And I want to be left in peace and quiet for one night!” His dad snapped again. “We don’t all get what we want.”

            Keith had gone to his room after that. He laid on his bed, staring at the stars stuck to the ceiling. When he was growing up, his dad had told him he was allergic to the outside, whatever that meant. Keith’s nightly gaze out of his apartment complex window told him otherwise. He knew to stay out of sight. He knew other people couldn’t see him. He was a freak. He picked at the bedframe with his claws. The grooves he left were not the first, and he knew they wouldn’t be the last. He stayed in his room, reading articles on his ancient computer. He loved reading about cryptids and wondered if that’s what he technically was. He snorted at the idea of people making memes about him.

The red letters on Keith’s alarm clock had ticked around to single digits again before he moved from his bed. His dad was passed out in the recliner, surrounded by more cans. He draped a blanket over him before going into the kitchen to get a bologna sandwich. Keith had found that he was naturally a nocturnal being, more comfortable in the dark than in the daylight. He wasn’t sure if that was because of whatever made him look like The Wolfman or if was due to the fact that his dad had boarded up all the windows. He only saw the sun in brief flashes when his dad entered and exited the house in the daylight. Once, a few years ago now, he’d tried to go to the roof in the daylight. The loose plyboard from his window swung open, the sun had hit his eyes, and he had hissed and slammed it shut. The headache he had for the rest of the day was deemed not worth it, and he didn’t try again.

The bologna sandwich stuck to the roof of his mouth. The damn bread was stale again and Keith rolled his eyes at it. Maybe he could guilt his dad into ordering pizza the next day. For now, though, he choked down the rest of the sandwich and checked to make sure his dad was out cold. He shook his foot lightly, and he didn’t even snort. Perfect. Keith crept into his room and grabbed his sketchbook and pencils. Most nights, he’d peer out of the window and sketch the skyline. Once he’d sketched a bird that stuck around long enough for him to get a good look at it. Tonight, though, he opened the window and eyed the fire escape. He could do it. He could just walk out. He considered his dad in the other room, and within the next second, he was out.

He scrambled up the stairs, not wanting to be seen by the too-close neighbours across the alley, but when he crested the top, someone moved at the edge of the roof and Keith froze. Was it too late to dart down the stairs?

“Whoa,” the guy breathed. Definitely too late, but he’d try his best anyway. “Hey, kid, wait!” Keith’s feet pounded down the fire escape, but the other guy was a bit quicker. “What do you think you’re doing? You could be seen!”

“What?” Keith squeaked.

“In here,” The guy put a hand on the back of his head and forced him to duck into the window above his. Keith did as he was directed, but his hands shook and it felt like he was going to upchuck his sandwich. “What the hell are you doing in a place like this? You could be killed! There are eyes everywhere here.”

 _“What?_ _”_ Keith said, a little more shrill. The guy stopped. “Who are you?” The guy sighed and tucked the pack of cigarettes back in his pocket.

“I sometimes forget.” He muttered darkly. “Takashi Shirogane. Ex-General of Hell, at your service,” He said, a wry smirk playing on his lips. Keith’s heart slammed against his ribcage.

“I’m Keith.” He stammered. “Why did you push me into your apartment?”

“What are you doing around here? You’re a little young to be topside, aren’t you?” Takashi asked, crossing his arms.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Keith said flatly.

“What’re your orders?” Takashi asked, screwing up his face. “Are you spying on me?”

“Dude, I don’t even know who you are. Why are you not freaking out right now?” Keith’s voice broke. Takashi took two quick steps toward him and Keith raised his sketchbook as the most piss-poor shield anyone has ever seen. The sketch of the bird faced Takashi, and he looked at it with a puzzled look on his face.

“What?” Takashi said, tilting his head at it.

“Listen, man, just let me go. Please don’t call the cops. My dad will freak out and I’ll never get to go to the roof again.” Takashi made a face like he knew all those words, just not in that order.

“What?” He said again.

“Now damn it, that’s what I was asking you!” Keith said, throwing his hands in the air. The anger leeched out of Takashi’s face, curiosity replacing it.

“Either you’re the best spy Hell has ever sent, or you genuinely have no idea who I am.” He murmured.

“I’ve told you no less than three times that I genuinely have no idea who you are,” Keith replied drily. “Please let me go.”

“Where do you live?” Takashi asked, frowning.

“Like I’d tell a kidnapper that,” Keith snapped. “I’ve seen SVU. I know what happens to kids who get taken away.”

“What?” Takashi said again and Keith snarled.

“You’re the one to jammed me into your window!” Keith’s eyes flashed to the window in question. The still-open window. The still-open window that was no less than five feet from where he was standing. Both men seemed to have the same realization, and before Keith could even act on the impulse, the window slammed shut of seemingly its own accord and a force pushed Keith into a nearby kitchen chair.

“We aren’t done talking,” Takashi growled. Keith nearly shit his pants.

“Oh my god, you’re a fucking wizard,” A bewildered look crossed the other man’s face.

“No?” He responded. Shiro was completely aghast. The kid looked to be old enough to have had his powers for years. Why was he so shocked? “You’re well old enough to have learned how to do that.”

 _“No?_ _”_ Keith echoed. “Nobody knows how to do that!” Keith’s voice broke again and he noticed, mournfully, that his claws were destroying his sketchbook. He set the book down gently on the table.

“You look like a demon, but you’re clearly not one,” Shiro mused. “Where did you come from?”

“I’ve lived in this building all my life,” Keith said, shaking his head. “My dad owns the store downstairs,”

“Does he, now?” Shit. “That man’s human. I’ve seen him before.”

“Of course he is. And you’re not?” That gave Shiro pause.

“No. Of course not. And you are?” Keith nodded profusely.

“Yeah. My dad says so, anyway.” Shiro nodded a few times.

“Let’s talk about this, okay? Call me Shiro.”

* * *

 

            Keith was finally released an hour or so later, head spinning. The man said that he’d replace the sketchbook that Keith left on the kitchen table. He’d gone to check on his dad (still passed out) and laid back in bed. What the hell had happened? The guy told him some crazy bullshit story about being from literal Hell and being cast out to live as a human, but Keith didn’t quite buy it.

            It was a bit harder to be a sceptic when he went to brush his teeth in the mirror and he saw his reflection looking back at him. Where else could somebody this ugly come from, if not Hell?

            The next night found Shiro in the same place, with Keith quietly clambering up the fire escape. The man was sitting on the edge of the roof with a small green bag next to him.

            “You came back,” Shiro called. He sounded genuinely surprised.

            “Where else am I going to go?” Keith scoffed. As a rule, he generally stayed away from the edges of the roof to avoid any sightings, but Shiro patted the ledge next to him and Keith found his legs moving of their own accord.

            “I brought you something,” Shiro said, holding out the bag. If Keith didn’t know any better, he’d say that under the scar on his face, he was blushing. Keith peeked into the bag.

            “No way,” He breathed. It was a new sketchbook, but also a set of inking pens and a box of Prismacolor alcohol ink pens. “For me?”

            “Yeah. You’re really good, Keith. I flipped through the other sketchbook.” Shiro said, slightly embarrassed at how weird that sounded out loud. “I hope you don’t mind,”

            “No, it’s fine,” Keith said, opening the pack reverently. “I’d just been using one of my dad’s number two pencils,” He chuckled. “I only saw this kind of stuff of YouTube.”

            “YouTube,” Shiro said flatly. Keith raised an eyebrow.

            “Please tell me you know what YouTube is.” Shiro laughed.

            “Of course I know what YouTube is. I’ve been strictly topside for almost twenty years. How do you think Bill Gates got so successful? I know the guy who gave him his deal.” Keith's brain skipped a gear.

            “No. Huh-uh.” Keith shook his head a few times. “Not even going there.” Shiro laughed, and for some reason, it made Keith’s face heat up. He quickly changed the subject. “So what do you do, like, as a job? Do you still do demon stuff?” Shiro shook his head and gave a small, dark, chuckle.

            “Would you believe I’m a lawyer?” That made Keith roar with laughter.

            “No way. And you live _here?_ _”_ He asked. Shiro shrugged.

            “This building was one of the only ones that didn’t look into your history if you paid in cash,” Shiro said, taking another drag of his cigarette. Keith nodded as he doodled. “What do you do?”

            “Wither away to nothingness. Sit in my room quietly and pretend like I don’t exist.” He muttered. It was only after Shiro was silent for a few moments that he looked up. Shiro was watching him with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth. “It’s a joke. Supposed to be funny?”

            “Ha, ha,” Shiro said drily. “Do you really never leave?”

            “Look at me. I’d get shot at in the street.” Keith scoffed, suddenly not feeling like drawing anymore.  

            “You’re right. I guess without powers it’s hard to blend in.” Shiro said thoughtfully. Keith rolled his eyes.

            “You think?” He muttered. Shiro changed the subject.

* * *

 

            It became a nightly ritual. Keith’s dad would drink himself into a coma, Keith would sneak out, and he and Shiro would sit on the roof and talk. Sometimes Shiro would bring him things, like books and movies. Keith would show him videos and other stuff on Shiro’s phone. Keith was becoming enamoured with the thing. His prized possession was his computer, but it was getting up there in age and was starting to bog down. Shiro’s phone was so fast, and Keith played a bunch of games on it every time Shiro let him.

            “Do you not have a phone?”

            “What?” Keith had asked, blinking.

            “I was just, you know. If you had a phone. We could maybe text?” Keith chuckled.

            “The Ex-General of Hell, using emojis?” Keith said drily. Shiro actually _did_ blush that time. “No. My dad never really saw the point. I don’t go anywhere.” The mood was darker that night, and Keith had climbed into bed bitter that morning.

* * *

 

            The next day, Shiro was later to the roof than usual. Keith tried to focus on getting the colours of the sky where the sun was setting right, but he was impatient. The sound of someone clambering up the fire escape had him peering over the edge. It was Shiro, and he had a small bag behind his back.

            “Okay, so I brought you something,” Shiro said, a grin breaking across his face. He handed the bag over. “You play with mine all the time, and maybe you’ll get less lonely during the day,” Shiro babbled. Keith’s eyes widened as he peeked into the bag.

            “No way,” It was a phone! It was the same kind as Shiro’s, but the plastic was red instead of black. _“No way._ _”_

            “I put my number in there and stuff,” Shiro said, a hand on the back of his neck. For all his demon bravado, Keith was starting to learn that the guy was really just a dork.

            “I can’t take this from you,” Keith said, shaking his head. “This is gotta be expensive,” Shiro scratched the back of his head.

            “Sure, but who else would I spend money on?” He said softly, brow crinkling. “I lost everyone when I Fell. You’re the first actual friend I made since.”

            “We’re friends?” Keith asked, tilting his head to the side. “I mean, I’ve made friends on Xbox Live and on the internet, but,”

            “Not the same?” Shiro said, grinning.

            “No way,” Keith breathed. They both cracked smiles at each other.

            “Well, turn it on! Come on, we’ll play this new game I found.”


End file.
